


Thin Line

by Severina



Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Community: smallfandombang, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a mistake. But her beautiful blue eyes are imploring him and if he pulls away from her now, it looks like rejection. Rejection, with Matthew Scott watching and cataloging the moment. He'll not have that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thin Line

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's smallfandombang community. This is my first ever SGU fanfic, and it basically took over my brain after a recent re-watch of the show. I've taken aspects of the canon and the timeline and played with them to make them work for me. And I've gone with the ol' "pretend girlfriend" trope, just so's ya know. Also, writing Rush was fun.
> 
> * * *

01

They head toward the observation deck.

It's not a common destination for a group, but Chloe supposes that it's been an uncommon kind of day. It's not common, for example, for all of them to be off duty at the same time. It's not common for Dale Volker to join them when they _are_ all together, yet here he is, deep in conversation with Ronald Greer. It's not common for Camille to be striding alongside them, laughing at something that Vanessa says as they turn down a corridor. 

It _is_ common for Matt to sling his arm over her shoulder as he leans in toward Vanessa to make a point, and Chloe stiffens and her step falters until he realizes what he's done and turns to her with a wan smile and carefully removes his arm. Everything about her and Matt is careful these days. 

They are all still talking over each other when they spill into the observation desk. 

It's normally a place of quiet contemplation, and it's not at all odd to see Brody standing at the railing. It's not even uncommon to see Rush there, though everyone on the ship seems to think that he runs on battery power and only stops when Colonel Young orders him to his room to recharge. Chloe watches him, though, when she's working on equations and he thinks she's not looking. She sees his eyes flutter closed when he's fighting exhaustion, and she sees the way his hands shake when he's been standing at a console too long; she shadows him, occasionally, when he ducks away from the bridge and she knows that there are times when he hides himself away – not in his quarters or in his hallway with his endless calculations and his chess board, but in an alcove away from prying eyes. All eyes but hers.

So it's not strange to see Brody or Rush on the observation deck. The uncommon part is to see them huddled together in what appears to be a deeply personal conversation. One that she knows instinctively – perhaps from the tilt of Rush's head – that they should not interrupt.

"Hey," she says, reaching out to grab a random arm – it turns out to be Dale's – and trying to turn the group around. "Why don't we—"

"Well well well, what have we got here?" Ronald calls out.

"…go play cards in the mess hall," Chloe finishes lamely, but Greer is already heading toward the railing, where Rush is straightening up and Brody is turning toward them with a relieved smile. And the rest of their group is trailing after Greer, still laughing at the ridiculous story Vanessa was telling about basic training, and none of them seem to notice the flicker of anxiety on Rush's face before he schools it into its customary glare of irritation. Chloe hesitates, half in the corridor and half in the room, until Matt shoots a questioning look at her over his shoulder and then she shuffles over to join her friends. 

"You two look like you're up to nooooo good," Greer is saying with a laugh as she joins them. "What's up?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Rush clips out.

"Dr. Rush has a problem," Brody says at the same time.

"Mr. Brody," Rush warns.

"What kind of problem?" Camille asks. "Maybe we can help."

"Although if it's anything to do with warp drive—"

"Warp drive? You think we're on the Enterprise or something?"

Vanessa shoots Greer a look, nudges him with her elbow when he laughs again. "Or FTL or something like that," she continues, "we're probably the wrong people to ask. Eli would be best. Or maybe Chloe...?"

Chloe lifts a shoulder when all eyes turn to her. She's told herself that she's done with feeling awkward over the knowledge that the Nakai left behind in her and with what she can now do – well, she's _mostly_ done feeling awkward. But she only had to look at Rush's face when they walked in to know that this conversation has nothing to do with the Destiny's propulsion systems. "I'm sure it's none of our business," she says.

"It's a problem of a romantic nature," Brody says quickly.

"Mr. Brody!" Rush bellows.

"What?" Brody snaps back. "Lord knows I don't have any ideas. Maybe they _can_ help."

Chloe's not sure if everyone is holding their breath or if it's just her, but there seems to be a collective indrawn gasp until Rush lifts a hand and swipes it over his brow. It's only when his shoulders slump and he lets out a sigh that the air comes back into her lungs again.

"Fine," he mutters.

"Wooooo!" Greer yelps, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "Okay, so what's the problem? Got a crush on a lady, Rush? 'Cause I am the man to help you with that one. I got all the moves."

"You wish," Matt snorts. "You want advice on how to woo a lady? You come to me, Dr. Rush."

"I don't need—" Rush grits out. He clutches the railing and reins in his temper with an effort that Chloe can see in his white-knuckled grip, no doubt already regretting agreeing to talk to them. "My problem," he starts again, "is the exact opposite. You may be aware of Miss Park's… ongoing romances with members of the crew."

"Lisa Park fucks everything that moves," Greer says. "Yup, got that, moving on."

"Wait." Camille holds up a hand. "What did you just say?"

"You didn't know that?" Matt asks. "I thought everybody knew that."

"There's nothing wrong with it," Vanessa adds defensively. "She's a grown woman, we're all adults here—"

"I didn’t mean to imply that there was anything wrong," Matt starts, "I'm just saying I thought it was common knowle—"

"My point," Rush interrupts sharply, "is that she seems to have suddenly fixated on _me_."

"You," Matt repeats dryly. 

"Why?" Greer asks.

"I wish I knew," Rush sighs out. 

"It's not so surprising," Chloe puts in. She shrugs again when they all turn to her, more than a few registering surprise at her words. "What?" she continues defensively. "Dr. Rush is intelligent, driven, motivated. These are all attractive qualities."

"He's also rude and annoying," Greer says.

"Short-tempered," Vanessa points out.

"Foul-mouthed," Volker says. He wilts a little when Rush turns his glare on him, but stands his ground. "You swear a lot. It's under your breath, but we can still hear you."

"Bossy," Brody adds conversationally.

Greer and Matt share a look. "Lotta work," they say simultaneously before bursting into laughter. 

"Yes, well thank you very much, you've all been extremely helpful. On your way, now," Rush says sarcastically with a wave of his hand. 

"Hey, don't be like that. We're trying to help you, man," Greer says. "You know, if you want somebody to take Park off your hands, I'll be happy to oblige."

"I don't think that dragging her off to your quarters would work in this instance, Sergeant Greer," Rush says.

"Why don't you just tell her that you're not interested?" Matt suggests. "Generally, people tend to get the message when you tell them, straight out."

Chloe studies her feet, but she can still feel Matt's eyes on her when he glances her way. She holds herself still, their last conversation playing like a loop in her brain.

_  
"You just told me you love me. Just a few weeks ago, you said—"_

_"I know." She clenches her hand at her side to prevent herself from lifting it to his cheek. "We've changed, Matt."_

_"No," he says._

_"Matt—"_

_"No, Chloe. I haven't changed."_

_"Fine," she breathes out. "Maybe you haven't, Matt, but I have. I'm not the woman I was when I gated onto this ship."_

_He shakes his head, presses his lips together in a thin line. "No."_

_"The aliens—"_

_"They fixed it," Matt insists. "They fixed you."_

_"No, they didn't," she says softly. She sees the alarm on his face before he can even begin to filter it, raises a hand then. "They stopped the mutations. I'm… healed, in that sense. But I think differently now, Matt. I see things differently." She shakes her head, grips his arm as she tries to make him understand. "But even if all of that didn't happen, I'd still be different now."_

_"If you could just stop—"_

_"Stop what, Matt? Automatically translating Ancient into English in my head whenever I see it? Stop working on calculations that could help the ship; that could help us survive the next time we end up trapped near a pulsar or there's damage to the FTL drive? I_ can't. _And I won't. And I shouldn't have to."_

_She turns her head away when his eyes well up, because if he cries she just might relent if only to stop his tears. Her name is nothing more than a strangled sound from his lips when she walks away._

 

The air on the deck feels heavy, a low pressure on her chest that makes it hard to catch her breath. She stares at her toes of her sneakers until the weight of his gaze moves on and she can breathe again. 

"That does seem to be the best move," Camille is saying. "Tell Lisa you're not interested. Be honest and direct."

"I can't."

Camille shakes her head, frowning. "And why not?"

"Because I have to work with the woman," Rush points out. "Because she's my subordinate. Because I can't worry about her reacting badly and it affecting her work and causing a meltdown on the Destiny, that's why," Rush snaps. 

Chloe opens her mouth to protest, closes it again when she meets Vanessa's eyes. Things _are_ different when someone is rejected. Things get awkward. She and Matt are proof of that. Vanessa and Matt are proof of that. And much as she'd like to rail against Rush's derisory stereotyping of the spurned woman, she simply doesn't know Lisa well enough to guess how she'd react. She sees the same realization mirrored in Vanessa's eyes and holds her tongue.

"Now," Rush continues, "does anyone have any practical advice?"

"You could date her," Dale suggests quietly.

Rush snorts. "As I said, does anyone have any _practical_ advice?" He shakes his head in the ensuing silence. "Thought not. Well thank you all for your help. Much appreciated," he bites out.

"Ohhhkay," Matt says after a moment. "Didn't somebody mention cards? Brody, you wanna come along?"

"I'm in," Brody says. "Five card stud?"

"Say goodbye to half your rations, science boy," Vanessa says. She slings an arm over Brody's shoulder as they begin to drift away, Greer and Volker already chatting as they walk toward the corridor.

It can't only be her that notices the way Rush's shoulders hunch as they move away from him, the way his fingers clench on the railing as he turns his back on them and stares out into the glow of the FTL wave. 

"C'mon, Chloe," Matt calls back.

"Nah, I'm going to stick around here. Brainstorm a bit," Chloe answers. And she pretends not to notice the way Matt's lips harden in a thin line before he turns and runs to catch up with Greer, or the way his voice gets deliberately louder and more animated as he moves away. 

"Thank you, Miss Armstrong," Rush says over his shoulder, "but I think I've had enough helpful advice for the moment."

Chloe lifts her chin, strides up to lean with her back against the railing next to him. "Actually, I have an idea."

She waits until he tilts his head toward her, his curiosity getting the best of him as she knew it would. 

"Oh?"

"Maybe," she says, "Lisa would lose interest in you if she thought you were already with someone."

"Perhaps," Rush concedes, "but since I'm not…"

"But you could pretend to be," Chloe says. "If someone on board pretended to be your girlfriend for a little while, then I bet Lisa would back off."

"Again, perhaps," Rush says. "And just who do you imagine taking on the role of Pretend Girlfriend, may I ask?"

Chloe simply raises a brow.

Rush blinks. "Oh, no. Not a chance."

"Why not?" Chloe bristles. "I'm young, I'm cute. I could totally be interested in you."

Rush lowers his head, but she can't help but notice how his lips quirk just a little. "The first two make the third a distinct impossibility, I'm afraid."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Chloe says softly. She crosses her arms and hugs her stomach when he looks up at her, and later she'll thank the drop from FTL for saving her from continuing and most likely making a fool of herself. Instead, she turns and leans her elbows next to Rush's on the railing and watches the stars pop into existence. She watches the way he curls his long fingers together, and the way the fall of his hair hides his face. She watches him until his radio crackles and Colonel Young orders him to the gate room. 

"Duty calls," she says, and then clears her throat when her voice cracks. She stands upright, rubs her hands along the goose-bumps on her arms. 

"Indeed," Rush says, tipping his head toward her as he turns to go. "Miss Armstrong."

She watches him stride across the room and thinks about all the times she's seen him walking alone, sitting alone, working alone. That's all too common. She thinks about the way his eyes soften when he speaks to her, and the way he trusted her when no one else seemed to believe in her. And she doesn't want him to leave. Not like this. 

"So what do you say?" she calls after him.

He halts in his stride, hesitates in the doorway for a long moment before he inclines his head toward her. "What about your soldier boy?" he asks.

"Matt won't care," she answers, and thinks it might be a lie. But Matt was right – you can't be unsure of how things stand when a person tells you to go, and she had been quite clear on where she stood. They just didn't work anymore… not since the aliens. Not since she changed. "We're not together anymore." 

He lingers there long enough that Chloe is opening her mouth to speak again – to reassure him that he won't be stepping on any toes, to remind him that she makes her own choices and she's choosing to do this, to help him – but then he nods his head once before striding off down the corridor. She hears his radio crackle again and Rush's irritated voice drift back in answer before he fades from her sight.

Chloe turns back to the observation window, and knows she is smiling.

She's going to take that as a Yes. 

 

02

Rush manages to avoid Lisa Park for two whole days. He schedules them onto opposite shifts on the bridge, and when she pops in unannounced to 'work on a project' or 'go over those algorithms' he finds an excuse to head over to the control interface room or to be desperately needed on the engineering deck. He finally works out the solution to an equation in his corridor that’s been nagging at him for several weeks, and he gets more sleep than he has since they first gated aboard the Destiny.

But even Rush has to eat sometime.

He keeps his head down when he enters the mess hall, grunts at Becker on ration duty. His portion of the protein goop looks as unappetizing as ever, and this time it's joined by a small bowl containing some diced segments of the Destiny's version of plums and peaches. He grimaces at the plates as he takes a seat with his back to the door, and pulls his notebook and a battered pencil from his pocket.

He deliberately does not look at the table where his science team sits with some of the soldiers, talking and laughing among themselves. He wonders, despite all evidence to the contrary, if they are perhaps laughing at him. Wonders if he is the butt of a joke, some cruel jape that twists their lips into callous parodies of amusement. He hunches over his bowl, takes care to dip his spoon slowly into the tasteless white liquid and lift it unhurriedly to his mouth. He schools his face into lines of placid indifference. 

He does not look at their table, but he can feel Park's eyes on him all the same. His shoulder blades itch from the force of her stare.

"Over here!"

He twitches, but does not look over his shoulder at the sound of Lieutenant Scott's shout. He doesn't get invited to sit at their table… and he wouldn't, even if he was asked. He would not willingly subject himself to Park's all too transparent yearning, nor to the juvenile jests that pass as humour to Ronald Greer and his ilk. 

"I'm good, thanks." 

The voice is practically at his ear, and Rush looks up in surprise when Chloe slides her bowls across the table from his and takes a seat. "Hey," she says to him, the corners of her lips turning up in a half-smile. Her fingers pluck at the fruit in the bowl as she settles herself in the chair, then lift to tuck her long hair behind her ears before she meets his eyes. As if this were a regular occurrence. As if she belongs there.

Rush fastidiously swallows another mouthful of his pitiful rations before setting his spoon down on the table. "Miss Armstrong," he says slowly, "what are you doing?"

"Well," she answers, "this is called 'eating dinner'. It involves ingesting sustenance orally in order to fuel the body and mind." She smirks at him before popping one of Destiny's pseudo-plums into her mouth, and the smile quickly becomes a grimace. "It's also disgusting," she chokes out, shoving the remainder of her bowl away. "What _is_ this?"

"Apparently the indigenous beings of the last planet we visited enjoyed food with a taste approximating dried shoe leather," Rush observes. He gestures to the bowl. "The peaches are slightly better."

"I'll take your word for it," she says, picking up her spoon instead. She swirls the utensil around in her bowl for a moment before glancing to his face. "So I haven't seen you around much."

"Yes," Rush says. He can admit, if only to himself, that it is not only Miss Park whom he's been avoiding. "I've been… busy. Why are you here, Miss Armstrong?"

The look she gives him is pure exasperation as she points the spoon in his direction. "You know, if we're dating—"

"We're _not_ dating," he points out quickly.

"If we're _pretending_ to be dating," Chloe amends, "then we should probably be seen together, whether you're busy or not. You know, like this? Eating dinner. Walking around. Sitting in the observation deck, holding hands and watching the stars." 

He watches the shape of her lips as she speaks, as she raises the spoon to her mouth and slips it between her lips. Watches her throat convulse as she swallows, and imagines the press of his lips against her neck. His eyes dart back to her mouth when she removes the spoon only to lick slowly at its underside, her tongue flicking at the metal before swiping at her bottom lip. He imagines sucking that lip into his mouth, nipping at it, hearing her bite back a moan. 

"Dr. Rush?"

Rush blinks, clears his throat and straightens at the table. Banishes the shameful thoughts to the corner of his mind that he reserves for such things; seals it away with the image of her eyes lighting up the first time she realized she understood the equations she was working on, and the remembrance of her soft palm in his hand as they ran through the corridors of the alien ship. 

She is not his. She is too young, too kind, too innocent. She can never be his.

"Is that what you did with your soldier boy, Miss Armstrong?" he asks gruffly.

He watches the fall of her hair as she turns her head to look at Lieutenant Scott, and clenches his fist on the table at the urge to reach out and stroke his fingers through it. 

This is a mistake. He knew it the moment he walked away from her the other day. He still knows it now.

"Not exactly," Chloe answers. She turns back to him, and the blue eyes that were sparkling just a moment ago look resigned now. He wishes he had the nerve to ask her what happened between them to cause this rift, or to offer a way to ease her pain. And he wishes also that his imagination wasn't so vivid as to allow him to so clearly imagine what they did together before their split instead of watching the stars. What they did when the lights were out and Destiny flew through her quasi-night. 

Then she visibly straightens, clearly shaking away any lingering unpleasant thoughts with the lift of her chin, and reaches across the table to place her hand atop his own.

He freezes. There is no other word for the way his body tenses and his breath stops in his throat.

"Lisa's looking this way," she says. "We ought to make it look realistic, don't you think?"

This is a mistake. But her beautiful blue eyes are imploring him and if he pulls away from her now, it looks like rejection. Rejection, with Matthew Scott watching and cataloging the moment. He'll not have that. 

And he wants to touch her. He can admit that truth. Surely this simple touch cannot be dangerous.

He slowly, carefully turns his hand palm up so that he can cup his fingers with hers. Chloe's fingers are soft, delicate against his coarse hand, just as he remembers. He smoothes his thumb over her knuckles and watches the remaining tension in her own body ease. 

She smiles at him, squeezes his fingers gently. "Also, you should probably call me Chloe," she says, and her smile loosens something in his chest that he hadn't known was drawn up tight. "What do you prefer, Nicholas or Nick?"

"Rush," he says shortly, releasing her hand.

"Right," she says. She sits back in her chair and takes up her spoon. "Nicholas it is."

He watches her eat and sip at her water and listens to her tell him about Lieutenant Johansen's recovery from the fire in the med lab, and eventually he takes up his own spoon. And when she finally gives in and tries the peaches and pronounces them "not as vile as expected" he wordlessly slides the remainder of his fruit to her side of the table.

This is a mistake, but he finds that he wants her to stay all the same.

 

03 

"I know what you're doing," Matt says.

Chloe's step falters for a brief moment before she catches herself and continues along the corridor, Matt falling into step beside her. She forces herself not to quicken her pace, keeps her attention on the supply list in her hand. "Going to the hydroponics lab? Hardly a state secret."

"I mean with Rush," Matt says. "Sitting with him in the mess hall, standing next to him at the meeting last night. This is all about Lisa Park, isn't it?"

Chloe shakes her head. "I don't know what you're—"

"And if you have the added bonus of making me jealous, then that's all the better for you."

"What?" She stutters to a stop, hand reaching out instinctively to touch his arm. "No. Matt, this has nothing to do with you."

"Sure," he says. 

His arm is stiff under her fingers, hard and unyielding, and Chloe lets her hand drift back to her side. She tries to remember the feel of him unbending as she kissed him, his fingers drifting over his skin, but the memories seem distant, like a dream recounted by another person. She can't reconcile that Matt with the person confronting her now, his eyes blazing with hurt and suspicion.

"Look," she tries, "things were building up between us for a long time. I know that our break-up may have felt like it came out of left field to you—"

"You think? You told me you loved me! And now I'm supposed to believe you're interested in someone like _Rush_?" he spits out. "Frankly, I don't know how you can stand to talk to the guy for more than five minutes."

"Considering no one ever _tries_ —" she begins.

"You ever think there might be a reason for that?"

"He's my friend," she says softly.

"He's insane! He tried to frame Colonel Young for murder—"

"—after Colonel Young ambushed him and left him to die!" Chloe finishes. She forces herself to take a breath, leans back and grounds herself against the cool metal wall. "Neither one made any good choices there, but that's all in the past. And so are we, Matt."

"You really think—"

"Is everything okay here?"

Chloe closes her eyes briefly at the sound of the new voice before pushing herself away from the wall. "It's fine, Nicholas."

"Oh, it's Nicholas now," Matt mutters.

She watches Rush's eyes dart between her and Matt before finally settling on her. "You're sure?"

"I was just leaving," Matt says before she can open her mouth. She watches him push past her, his long strides eating up the corridor, and presses her lips together. 

"Too much testosterone in that boy," Rush says dryly from somewhere behind her.

Chloe huffs out a laugh, turns back to him and shakes her head, sobering. "He's hurting," she says. "I wish I knew how to help him."

"Perhaps you can't," Rush says. "Some things… just need to heal on their own."

She inclines her head, clutches her supply list in suddenly damp fingers. "I was just heading to the hydroponics lab," she says. "Walk with me?"

He points a long finger in her direction. "Now," he says, "am I to be your escort or your bodyguard?"

She glances back down the hallway at Matt's retreating back, turns back to Rush and makes a face. "Pfft. I could take him."

"Escort it is, then."

When the corner of his lip turns up in a hesitant smile, her stomach does a slow ungainly flip before settling. And though their walk is silent, she lets her shoulder brush against his and notes that while he still jerks and stiffens slightly, he no longer pulls away. 

She's smiling when she enters the lab, and doesn't stop for a good fifteen minutes.

 

04

He is studying a schematic of the air filtration system when a hand reaches across his body and the screen goes dark.

Rush sighs, rubs at his forehead before raising his eyes. "What," he says slowly, "do you think you're doing?"

"Observation deck," Chloe says. "You were supposed to meet me there fifteen minutes ago."

She's got that look in her eye, the one that he's already learned means that she will not take kindly to not getting her way. Still, he shakes his head. "Miss Armstrong—"

"Chloe," she hisses with an all too obvious glance at Lisa Park.

"Chloe," he amends resignedly, "I believe that I mentioned that I _may_ be able to take some time to—"

"May, shmay," she interrupts. She blocks his hand when he reaches for the console, then crosses her arms at her chest and leans in to lower her voice. "You really don't want me to make a scene, do you? It could be our first official lover's quarrel."

"With how desperate these people are for gossip?" he replies. 

Her eyes sparkle when she smiles at him. "One good fight could keep them going for weeks," she teases.

He's already made up his mind to acquiesce the moment she so blatantly shut down his program and reminded him of his promise, but he makes a show of scowling and dragging his feet anyway. By the time they reach the observation deck and have taken their seats, he's beginning to regret not protesting more vehemently.

Small talk was never his forte. 

"Well, it's your play," he says when they have spent three silent minutes staring at the field of stars. "What shall we talk about?"

Chloe lifts a shoulder, and it heartens him somewhat to know that she may be feeling as stilted and awkward as he. "Family?" she suggests. "I'm going to see mine tomorrow. My mother. With the stones."

"Well I didn't think you were going to wiggle your nose and magically transport yourself there," he answers irritably. He watches the surprise and hurt flit across her face and tries to suppress the rush of guilt he feels for snapping at her, pressing his palms onto his thighs in preparation to rise. "Look, I'm really not in any mood for company, so I think I'll return to the bridge and my—"

"Stay," she says, and when her hand flits out to touch his arm he finds himself wavering, hyper-aware of the press of her fingers, the nearness of her, the way the flickering lights outside the window dance across her pale skin. He finally brushes her hand away, but he still slumps back into his seat.

"You never talk about your family," she says after a minute. "You never go to visit them?"

"No one to visit."

"Parents?" she tries. When he looks at her and shakes his head, she bites hesitantly at her lower lip. "Your… wife?"

He glances instinctively to his ring finger, bare after so many years. The ring was lost somewhere amongst the Nakai, maybe lying in a pool of water next to a dead alien. The thought of it being left behind among them still makes him feel vaguely sick. 

"She's dead," he grates out. "Cancer."

Chloe blinks over at him. "I'm sorry."

"Are you? Why?" he asks bitterly. "She was nothing to you. You didn't know her. Why care if she's dead?"

"Because no one should have to go through that!" Chloe answers. "And no loved one should have to watch it happen and survive it. Cancer is cruel, heartless. Pitiless."

He opens his mouth to chastise her for attempting to anthropomorphize a disease, but a look at her face stays his words. "You lost someone," he says instead.

"My Aunt Cecilia," she answers. He watches her twist her fingers in her lap, her head bowed and her hair hiding her face. "I was ten. I was supposed to wait outside in the corridor while my parents went in to see her, but I snuck into the room. She was…" She shudders, and Rush has to resist the urge to put his arm around her, to pull her close, to ease the memories with a little human compassion. But it is never enough. "I barely recognized her," she finishes, raising her face to his. "Don't try to tell me that cancer isn't heartless, because it is. Your wife—"

"Gloria," he says. It's one of the few times he's said her name aloud since the aftermath of the chair, and he expects the sound of it to be harsh and guttural, ripped unwilling from his lips. Instead, his wife's name is like a melody. He shakes his head, stares at his barren finger. "It was fast. She didn't suffer."

"I'm glad. And I'm sorry you had to go through that. I know that… well, afterward, that was when my mom started drinking. And my dad started travelling all the time. He only got interested in space exploration after Aunt Cecilia passed."

Rush smiles, and if there is some bitterness there at the irony there is some small amusement, too. "And I joined the stargate program," he says.

The smile she gives him in return is weak, but he appreciates the attempt regardless. "And here we are," she says.

"Here we are," he agrees.

He meets her eyes until she blinks and looks away, and then he follows her gaze to the stars streaming by in FTL. And when she rests her hand on his a moment later, he stiffens – but he doesn't make her remove it. And after a long moment, he curls his fingers around hers.

Maybe there is something to be said for small comforts.

 

05

His hair keeps falling in his eyes.

Chloe's fingers twitch with the urge to brush it back, to run her fingers through the long strands. It hangs like silk, brushing against his cheekbones, and the impulse to touch it – to see if it is as smooth and glossy as it looks – is almost overwhelming. She bites her lip and ponders the contrast between hair and beard, wants to feel the difference with her fingertips. Wonders what his hair would feel like brushing at the round of her breast while his lips tasted her, his beard scratching at the delicate skin.

"You're staring," Rush says without looking up from the screen.

Chloe starts, swallows and looks down at her own console. The figures she was checking have continued scrolling by while she daydreamed, and she shakes her head as she taps the button to reverse the program. She waits until the figures have backed up to her last known stopping point – far further back in the program than she realized, to her chagrin – before glancing back up at him. "Am I?"

"Indeed," Rush says. He still doesn't turn his attention away from his screen, but she can hear the amusement in his voice nonetheless. "Perhaps you should pay attention to your work, Chloe."

"Perhaps," Chloe retorts, "you should try not to be so aesthetically pleasing then, Nicholas." That startles him out of his contemplation of the Ancient text, and she waits until he lifts his head and gazes at her with wide eyes before raising her eyebrows. 

He snorts derisively as he pushes quickly away from the console. "I have to check something in the control interface room," he tells her. "I'll expect that analysis to be complete when I come back."

"Well since you won't be here to distract me that shouldn't be a problem," Chloe answers primly.

She doesn't even try to hide her smile as she bends to her console, has just begun re-running the numbers when the door shuts behind Rush. Volker immediately spins around in his chair and hurries to fill the silence.

"Okay, is it just me," he says, "or did Rush practically run out of here?"

"It's not just you," Brody says. He cocks his head. "Did he look nervous to you?"

"Nervous, anxious, pale, like he might puke," Volker confirms. He frowns suddenly. "You don't think he brought something back with him from that last planet, do you? Some kind of weird alien disease that'll infect us and mutate our bodies and… " He swallows, winces in her direction. "No offense, Chloe."

"None taken," she says without looking up. "And I don't think Dr. Rush is sick."

Brody snaps his fingers. "Unless he's _love_ sick."

Chloe tries her hardest to concentrate on the figures in front of her, but the silence is finally unbearable. She slams her finger down to pause the scroll, looks up in exasperation to find the two men staring unabashedly at her. "What?"

"Are you and he—" Brody starts.

"Are Nicholas and I _what_?"

"You know," Brody says. He frowns, wiggles his fingers in Volker's direction. "Help me out here."

"Canoodling?" Volker suggests. 

"Canoodling?" 

"Yes, canoodling!" Volker says with a glance at Brody. "You know, gettin' a little nookie?"

"Keeping the home fires burning?"

"Doing the nasty?" Volker continues. "The horizontal mambo?"

"Stop!" Chloe holds up a hand, not sure whether she should laugh or be insulted. She shakes her head. "I don't think that's any of your business, guys, do you?"

"Wait," Brody says. "This doesn't have anything to do with Rush's little…" He looks over his shoulder toward the door, lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper even though there's only the three of them on the bridge. "His little Park problem, does it?"

"No," Chloe says immediately. She bends her head back to the console and starts the scroll running again, hopes that her obvious dismissal will encourage the men to drop the subject. Sure enough, a moment later she hears Dale pulling up a schematic, and a few moments after that they are both deep in a discussion about the best ways to access the controls for the air vents on the upper levels. 

She tries to concentrate on her work, she truly does. But the figures blur until she finally has to pause the screen and press her palms against the edges of the console. This may have started out as a way to help Rush with 'the Park problem', as Brody so eloquently put it, but if she's being completely honest with herself it was never completely about that. And she realizes now that seeking Rush out is simply what she does now, because she'd rather be with him than anyone else. Even if they're only going over Destiny's archives or sitting together in the mess hall. She enjoys his company. She likes the way he thinks, and the way he makes _her_ think. She loves the way the skin around his eyes crinkles when he smiles, and the curve of his lips, and the way his fingers card through his long hair at the end of the day. 

She wants to be with him, to touch him, to listen to him… and she doesn't even remember the last time she saw Lisa Park. 

 

06

Rush hesitates in the corridor outside Chloe's quarters, hand raised to knock on the door, and gives himself a quick scan. Clothes as clean and pressed as they can be given the circumstances; hair washed and brushed. He stops himself when he realizes he's tugging on his waistcoat, correcting some miniscule fold in the fabric, and stares at the closed door.

He'd showered and dressed and primped. He'd even trimmed his beard.

What in the fucking hell was he doing?

Acting like some love-struck schoolboy over a woman young enough to be his daughter. A woman who was only being kind to him in the first place because she wanted to help him. He is nothing short of pathetic.

He's halfway turned to go when the door opens behind him and Chloe pops her head out. "Oh!" she yelps in surprise. "Nicholas! I was just checking… but you're—"

"I appear to be—"

"Early," she finishes. "Good. Because… I'm ready."

He watches her spread her arms wide, and does his best not to stare while his mouth goes suddenly dry. She's outfitted herself in the mauve dress she'd been wearing when she arrived on the Destiny, and the effect is simply stunning. The neckline cups her breasts while the waistline emphasizes her slim hips and long legs, and for a moment he is unable to remember his own name, let alone that a moment ago he was ready to turn tail and run away from this gorgeous creature. He blinks when he realizes that she's watching him in confusion, shakes his head. "You look—"

"Weird?" she says. She twirls a little, letting the material swirl around her knees, and wrinkles her nose. "It feels weird."

"Beautiful," he says, and watches the blush spread up her cheeks. He glances down at his own wardrobe, grimaces over at her. "I'm afraid I didn't bring a change of clothes."

"Well," she says, "you weren't travelling with a demanding Senator who insisted that his assistant have a different outfit for every event, and gave her the stipend to make it happen. Anyway, you look fine." She ducks her head, and Rush is sure that it must be the dim lighting in the hallway that makes it appear that her blush becomes more pronounced. "You always look fine. More than fine."

He can only frown at that; resists the urge to glance over his shoulder to see if someone is walking by behind him. He already knows that the corridor is deserted, no one lurking to hear her little compliment. No one there to witness the charade. 

No reason for her to speak charitably except for her aforementioned kindness to pathetic scientists, a fact that he would do well to remember this night.

"Should we go?" she asks.

He inclines his head. "We don't want to keep Mr. Brody waiting."

* * *

The common room is filled with laughing people by the time they arrive. And if the quality of the laughter is anything to go by, most of them have already imbibed a substantial measure of Brody's latest concoction.

"I guess no one could wait," Chloe says, hesitating in the doorway.

"Mr. Brody does have a reputation for his brews," Rush answers distractedly, half his attention on her and the other half scanning the room. Checking the exits, he realizes; slotting inebriated faces into friend or foe. His entire body feels stiff, taut with tension, and he's anxious to get this token appearance over with and then escape to the sanctity of the bridge. But then Chloe smiles at him and raises her eyebrows, and he finds himself leading her to the bar and accepting two glasses of Mr. Brody's dubious cocktails. 

"Bottoms up?"

She raises her glass to him before taking a tentative sip, and if the expression on her face matches his own then he knows they are lucky they didn't both drop dead on the spot. She winces once the burn is past, shakes herself like a wet dog. "Maybe it's an acquired taste?"

"Chloe! Over here!"

She lifts her head, smiles and waves over at Lieutenant James before turning back to him, and whatever she sees on his face makes her response to the Lieutenant's welcoming grin fade away. "We can sit somewhere else."

He follows her gaze to the table. Lieutenants James and Galloway. Matthew Scott, scowling into his glass. Private Becker, deep in conversation with Mr. Volker. And Miss Park, huddled in the corner next to Sergeant Greer. Throw in Colonel Young and Major Telford and it would be his worst nightmare come to life. 

He takes a breath, meets her downcast eyes. "No," he says, "of course not. We'll sit with your friends."

And watches those beautiful blue eyes light up just for him.

He may be a delusional old fool, but he finds he's willing to enjoy his delusions for one night.

 

07 

"There, now. Almost there."

Chloe leans against Rush's side, frowns down at her feet. "I shouldn't have worn these boots," she mumbles. "It's hard to walk in them."

There's a rumble against her side that she identifies as his silent laughter, then his hand grips her waist tighter and they move forward another few feet. "I think that's more the fault of Mr. Brody's pseudo-vodka," he says, close to her ear, "and less the fault of your rather fashionable choice of footwear."

The soft burr of his accent, the warm breath against the shell of her ear, the way his long fingers curl around her waist – all of it combines to make her shiver down to her toes. She tries to concentrate on moving one foot in front of the other and not on the lean line of his body pressed so close to hers, but when he leans forward and his hair brushes against her cheek he makes it damn difficult.

"I've been told that I don't hold my liquor well," she finally says. "That's what Eli said."

"You went drinking with Eli?"

"There was a whole thing with a fight and a kiss." Chloe frowns, trying to remember. "And I think there was crying. With my boyfriend."

"Lieutenant Scott."

She shakes her head – or maybe she only lolls it more comfortably on his shoulder – and gestures vaguely with her hand. "My other boyfriend. My old boyfriend. Brian or… Brad. I don't know. He was awful. And he looked like Ken."

"Ken? The private who works with Becker in the kitchen?"

"No!" she giggles. "Barbie's Ken!"

"Who in the hell is Barbie?"

"You're funny, Nicholas," Chloe says. She only realizes they've reached her room when Rush props her up against the wall to hit the entry button, and she blinks rapidly to pull him into focus. "You can come in if you want. To talk and stuff."

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Chloe."

"I promise I won't throw up on your shoes," she says solemnly. "I know you only have the one pair."

He huffs out another laugh and she smiles herself, happy to see him looking so cheerful. Her Nicholas definitely scowls too much. 

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I believe I shall have to take a rain check."

"Okay," she says. Her stomach is lurching queasily, and she may not be able to keep that vomiting promise for much longer, anyway. She stumbles into the room, lifts her hand to slam it into the lock button but points a finger at him first instead. "You know," she says happily, "I really like your hair."

The door closes on Rush blinking rapidly before smiling at her again, and she takes that image into her dreams.

At least until she wakes up two hours later and pukes into her luggage.

 

08 

Rush knows as soon as she enters the gate room. It is the _how_ of it that bewilders him. Is it the tread of her feet on the deck that he recognizes, or some subtle scent that only she gives off? A change in air pressure that makes his breathing suddenly go shallow and his body tense? 

He squints down at the stats rolling across the screen, marking the sufficient air quality readings for a shore party even as other, more primal senses track her moving past the soldiers to stand next to him. The air between them seems to crackle when she touches his arm, fingers warm through his long sleeve, and he straightens imperceptibly before forcing his body to relax. He wonders if it is game to her, seeing how frequently and in how many different ways she can touch him before he stops going rigid and stiff in response to her proximity. Wonders how far and how fast she would run if she knew that he holds himself taut in those moments in order to avoid pushing her into the nearest wall and rutting against her like a wild animal. 

He presses a button on the console to halt the scroll, and doesn't have to look at her to know that she's smiling.

"Well, Mr. Brody?" the Colonel asks.

"From what we can see on the kino, it's a dead civilization," Brody says. "Buildings are in advanced state of decay, most of them little more than ruins. Lots of vegetation in sight of the gate. Could be a good chance to stock up on some of our resources. There's some likely looking berry plants not too far away."

"Rush?"

Rush looks up from his study of the screen, blinks at Young. "I'd also like to study those buildings. There may be more there than meets the eye."

"Agreed," Young says. "Assemble a team. You've only got seven hours until we jump."

"I'd like to go," Chloe puts in quickly before he can open his mouth. 

"The clock's ticking," Young says, shaking his head. "We don't have time for sightseeing."

Rush leans back, crosses his arms at his chest and cocks a brow at Chloe. As expected, the woman is bristling. It never fails to surprise him how very thoroughly the Colonel still has no idea who he's dealing with among the members of his own crew.

"With all due respect, sir," Chloe says to Young's retreating back, "I think I've proven myself on more than enough missions to be slighted like that."

Young turns back, inclines his head. "You're right. I apologize. However, we still don't—"

"I've been studying up on medicinals since TJ was injured," she continues before he can finish. Rush recognizes the jutting chin and flashing eyes, and mentally gives Young thirty seconds before he caves. "She made up a database while she's been recovering, and I've memorized a lot of the basics by now. We're running low on a lot of supplies, and I know what to look for. I could be an asset to the team, Colonel."

"Well, technically it's Dr. Rush's team," Young says. "Rush?"

No caving then; merely passing the decision on to someone else so that if something goes wrong, there's a convenient scapegoat. "We're wasting time," he says in response. "Suit up, Miss Armstrong."

Ten minutes later he walks with her toward the gate and does his best not to notice that she manages to make camouflage fatigues look alluring.

"Medicinals?" he mutters to her before they cross.

She flashes a grin at him. "I don't just follow you around making goo-goo eyes. Shocking, I know."

* * *

He has work to do. The sooner he can get what he's found uploaded into Destiny's databanks, the sooner he can begin his analysis. The scraps of information on his kino or in his notepad may hold vital clues to Destiny's mission.

Yet Rush still finds himself heading toward the lush scrap of earth where Chloe sits, up to her elbows in damp soil and churned vegetation.

"As I suspected," he says in greeting. "You simply wanted an opportunity to play in the dirt and make mud castles."

She lifts a dirt-encrusted hand to her forehead to shield her eyes, squints up at him. "You got me," she says. "Gonna tell Colonel Young on me, Nicholas?"

Rush thinks it's highly more likely that she's got him, but he keeps that information to himself. "I may be many things, Chloe, but a rat I am not."

"No, I've always thought of you as more of a ferret," she says, cocking her head. "Rushing here and there, thinking complex thinky-thoughts with your big ol' ferret brain."

"What?" he laughs out, and when she only grins up at him and shakes her head he drops down to his knees beside her, lifts one of the vegetables she's got piled next to her and studies the overgrown protuberances. "Some kind of onion?" he guesses.

Chloe snorts out a laugh. "Not unless you want to spend a week in the infirmary," she answers. "The vegetable itself is inedible. But the root? Mix it into a paste and it can help sooth burns."

"Ah."

She leans over to swat him on the arm. "Did you think I was lying when I said I was studying medicinals?"

The fact had indeed crossed his mind, but Rush lays a hand over his heart in protest. "Would I think that?"

"You would," she says, narrowing her eyes at him playfully. 

He watches her deftly strip the root from a poisonous bulb and toss it into the bag at her side, and thinks that if she were an animal she would be a cat. Sleek and shiny, slinking through the corridors of the Destiny in search of her prey; not easily distracted, but mischievous when the mood struck her. Loyal, yet willing to forge her own path.

"What about you?" Chloe asks after she's worked her way through three more plants. She leans back on her heels, rubs a finger against her cheek. "Any luck at the buildings?"

Rush blinks, his 'complex' mind stuttering to get back on track. Lifts his head from contemplation of her long fingers to her face, and clenches his own hands together to resist the urge to swipe away the streak of dirt on her pale cheekbone. 

"The buildings, yes," he answers. "Some carvings that look promising, if I can decipher them. The roots are definitely Ancient, but the language had clearly been bastardized through the millennia." He gestures to the pack strapped to his back. "I managed to get all but the most eroded onto the kino. You can come by later to check them out if you like."

Chloe grins over at him. Again. "Is that the Destiny equivalent of 'want to come up to my loft and see my etchings', Nicholas"?

He knows that shock chases itself over his face before he manages to return her grin. "I suppose you'll just have to wait and see, Chloe."

And he knows that he must be imagining her pleased little smirk when she turns her attention back to the soil but he still gets hastily to his feet, rubs his suddenly damp palms on his thighs. "I have to get back," he announces. He gestures vaguely toward the gate. "To the ship."

"Sure," she says. "I'll see you later, Nicholas."

"Later," he agrees. He turns to go, has actually taken several steps away before he turns back to her. "Nick," he adds.

She squints up at him. "What?"

"You asked me once what name I prefer. It's Nick," he clarifies. He's somehow made his way back to her, his feet taking him where his brain does not. "I prefer Nick."

The smile she gives him could light up the Destiny, if only he could find a way to power it up. "Nick it is," she says.

And he gives in to temptation, reaches down to gently swipe the smudge of dirt from her cheek with the ball of his thumb. 

He most definitely does not imagine the way her eyes close and her mouth slips open in an inaudible sigh.

* * *

He is halfway to his quarters, head bent over his notebook and scribbling down the beginnings of a promising theory, when a bulldog darts from the intersecting corridor and slams him into the wall.

Rush shakes his head, ears ringing, and the bulldog morphs into the form of Lieutenant Scott. A snarling sneering Scott, with one arm holding him in place against the cold hallway wall and the other taut at his side, hand clenched into a fist. Rush takes it all in in the space of two heartbeats, readjusts his grip on his pencil. Anything can be a weapon if you use it correctly.

"Not the usual greeting I receive when I come back to the Destiny," he says casually, "unless, of course, your name is Colonel Young. Something I can do for you, Lieutenant?"

The pressure on his chest eases slightly, but the intense look on Scott's face dissipates not an iota. "You need to back off," he grits out.

"I believe that I was minding my own business when _you_ attacked _me_ ," Rush points out. 

"You know what I mean," Scott says. "Chloe. You need to leave her alone."

"The young lady is a grown woman, fully capable of deciding on her own with whom she wishes to spend her time," Rush says. He rolls his shoulder, succeeds in positioning his arm better for a counter-attack, if one is required. "If there's nothing else?"

"She's a good person," Scott answers, "and I'm not going to let you take advantage of her."

"Take advantage?" Rush snorts out a laugh. "You have met Chloe Armstrong, haven't you? She knows her own mind. In fact, a more headstrong, willful woman I have never—"

"She's been trying to help you," Scott interrupts, "with the thing with Lisa Park. I get that. Like I said, Chloe's a good person. But in case you haven't noticed, Park is with Greer now. They've got something good going, something _real_ , unlike this little deception Chloe is playing for your benefit. There's no need for this little charade anymore, Rush. You need to back off and let Chloe get back to her life."

Rush blinks, his grip on his pencil loosening. Thinks back to Brody's party a few nights before, Park nestled next to Greer at the table… and the warmth of Chloe's skin as she laid a hand on his, the brush of her long hair against his cheek when she leaned over to whisper something in his ear, her body loose in his arms as he guided her back to her quarters. Thinks to the staff meeting some days back, Greer moving through the crowd to stand next to the science team, Lisa smiling up at the soldier… and Chloe doing the same with him, her arm brushing against his and making every hair stand on end.

She was merely making a point, as she has been all along. Staking her claim on him in front of Miss Park. Simply helping a friendless, short-tempered old man with a problem. 

And any feelings he'd thought were developing between them are only his own pathetic wishful thinking, nothing more. 

Rush deflates against the wall, vaguely hears the shuffle of additional footsteps in the corridor. 

"Need some help there, Lieutenant Scott?" Lieutenant James calls out.

"Oh yes, because it would be the young, muscular soldier who requires assistance," Rush says scathingly. He pushes himself away from the wall hard enough to send Scott stumbling back a step, shakes his hair out of his eyes. "If we're done here, Lieutenant?"

"Remember what I said," Scott shouts as he stalks away.

Rush doubts he'll be able to think of anything else.

 

09

There is no answer to her knock at his door, and no sound from within when Chloe presses her ear to the cool metal. She rocks back on her heels, brows drawing together. She'd assumed that his invitation to drop by meant to his personal quarters, but most of his work these days was done in the abandoned corridors in the lower levels. She simply must have misinterpreted his words.

So she retraces her steps, calls out his name as she steps into the shadowy hallway. Nothing but chalk outlines on the walls and the hiss of the ventilation system. 

No Rush in the alcove where he sometimes hides away, either. Or at the table where he's been constructing his chess set.

She checks the observation deck, the mess hall, Brody's makeshift bar, even the showers on the off chance that he was simply washing away the grime of the day when she first stopped by his quarters. 

In desperation she finally checks the bridge – and finds him slumped over one of the consoles, eyes at half-mast and long hair shielding most of his expression from her view. But she knows him now better than ever, and recognizes the signs of stress and fatigue even before he realizes that he's no longer alone in the room and stiffens his back, shoulders nearly quivering with the strain. She takes a step onto the bridge as the door swishes shut behind her, but hesitates at the railing. The room crackles with misshapen energy, sending a shiver down her spine. She almost wishes that she'd left well enough alone, gone to bed when she couldn't find him. Almost. 

She finally takes the steps to the lower level, draws a breath. "Couldn't wait? Had to start without me, huh?" she tries lightly when she reaches him.

He slides his fingers over the buttons, closing the program. "Something like that."

The light from the console flickers on his tense jawline, only serves to deepen the dark circles under his eyes. She reaches out a hand to his arm, but her fingers barely brush the fabric before he's jerking away. "Don't," he snaps.

"Let me help you to—"

"I don't require your assistance after all, Miss Armstrong."

Chloe cocks a brow at the clipped tone. "Miss Armstrong, is it? Well, _Dr. Rush_ , it's clear that you're so tired you're not even thinking straight. You need to rest."

"I'm fine," he says. But the hand that reaches for his notepad is shaking slightly, and the stiff line of tension in his back is still there. Chloe lifts her chin, crosses her arms at her chest. 

"Look, you're too tired to get anything accomplished tonight. Why don't you—"

"I said I'm fine!" he snaps out.

"You're not fine, you're exhausted," she answers patiently. "You need to sleep, Nick."

He turns his head away, but not before she sees the wince that passes over his face. "I'll be heading off shortly," he says.

"Fine," she says. Because honestly, two can play at this game, and she can easily match his infuriating stubbornness with her own brand of obstinacy. She leans casually back against one of the chairs, studies her nails before looking over her shoulder at the flickering lights outside the window. She mentally starts counting, and bets herself that she won't get to thirty before he speaks. She's at twenty-two when—

"What," he says slowly, "do you think you're doing?" 

"Waiting for you," she answers calmly. "I'm going to walk you to your quarters."

"No," he grits out, "you are not."

"And then I'm going to make sure you go inside and lie down," she continues blithely. 

"Miss Armst—"

"And you're going to thank me for it tomorrow when you've had a solid – what do you get these days? Four hours of sleep a night? -- and are no longer behaving like a petulant child."

His head whips up at that, eyes flashing, and Chloe understands why that look can make Volker take a step away or why Brody suddenly has something else to do on the engineering deck when Rush turns it on him. But she meets his glare with a cool appraising look of her own.

She begins counting, and has only reached seven when his shoulders slump. "Fine," he says.

"Fine."

He snatches up his notebook viciously, whirls toward her. "I said I'm going."

"Fine," she repeats evenly. "Let's go."

 

10

The walk to his quarters is almost silent, the only sound the soft slap of their steps in the empty corridors. He realizes that his fingers are clutching convulsively around the soft leather of his notepad and forces his hands to relax. Makes himself stare resolutely ahead and not let his eyes drift to the swaying of her hips or the fall of her hair.

By the time they reach his door he's regained much of his equilibrium. Trying to avoid the girl was clearly a mistake. He merely has to make it clear to her that he no longer has need of her services. Send her on her way, politely but firmly, while ensuring that she's aware that he appreciates the effort she put in to make their farce of a romance look legitimate to the other members of the crew.

"As you can see, we're here," he begins, "and I didn't once try to scurry away back to my calculations."

"I'm most impressed," she says solemnly. 

"Not only did I have no need of your escort," he continues, "I also no longer have any need of your--- what are you doing?"

Chloe looks back over her shoulder, the button to his quarters already depressed under the slap of her palm and the door sliding open. "Making sure you go to bed," she says before brazenly walking into his room.

Rush closes his eyes briefly before following her inside. "Miss Armstrong—"

"Pretty sure we left that behind weeks ago," she says musingly as she takes in the spartan look of his room. "It's Chloe. Not much for making a place your own, are you?"

"Chloe," he grits out, trying again. "This has been—"

"You know," Chloe interrupts, drifting further into the room and drawing her fingertips lightly over his bedspread, "a girlfriend would find something for us to do to take your mind off your troubles."

Perhaps it is the trailing of her fingers on the bed, his most intimate space. Perhaps it is the way she tilts her head to watch him from beneath her long lashes, or the way she bites alluringly at her lower lip. But something within him cracks and breaks then, and he takes the two steps that separate them to grasp her around the bicep, slams her up against the wall next to his bed. 

"Is this some kind of game to you?" he snarls.

She blinks up at him slowly. "It's not a game, Nick."

And he wants to kiss her then. Wants to push himself against her body, trail kisses along the smooth column of her neck, draw her earlobe into his mouth and suck until she squirms against him. Instead he releases her, pushes away with a sneer. "Go back to your soldier boy."

She doesn't move from where he's pushed her, merely watches him as he sweeps a hand through his hair. "I told you, Matt and I aren't together. It was wrong between us for a long time."

"He doesn't agree."

She does move then, pushing herself away from the wall with a sinuous thrust of her hips. "Too bad," she says. "It's my life, my body. My choice. I decide who I choose to be with, not you. And certainly not Matthew Scott."

The words are eerily similar to the ones he'd uttered earlier in the day to the Lieutenant, and they come as no great surprise. He hadn't truly thought that she was still interested in the soldier, after all, despite Scott's obvious jealousy at their relationship. But that doesn't mean that she won't find someone else among the crew with whom to spend her time. He merely has to tell her that she need no longer keep her end of the bargain. Polite but firm, he reminds himself.

"Miss Armstrong—"

"Chloe. Seriously, what is up with this 'Miss Armstrong' shit?"

"Chloe," he repeats, "it has come to my attention that Dr. Park has begun a liaison with Master Sergeant Greer," he says, holding on to the last of his patience by the skin of his teeth. "Therefore, you no longer have to pretend to be interested in me. You are free to take your considerable charms elsewhere. If you're no longer interested in the lieutenant, perhaps Becker would be a likely prospect."

Chloe's brow furrows. "Becker."

Rush shrugs. "He's young, quite handsome—"

"You… you think this is because of Lisa," Chloe says, eyes wide. She shakes her head. "Wow. That whole thing about you scientist types being completely unable to pick up on the most basic social cues isn't just a stereotype, is it?"

Rush blinks. 

"It's you I'm interested in, Nick," Chloe says slowly, as though she were speaking to a particularly dull-witted child. And Nick must admit, with every step that she moves toward him, that the description may be quite apt. "And not because of some stupid game. Lisa was just a convenient excuse to get closer to you. I saw an opportunity and I took it."

Rush slumps back against the wall opposite her, the wind knocked from him in a rush. "That's absurd."

"Why?"

He glances up sharply, studies her face. And there is a trace of amusement there, yes, but he senses that it's only because she is truly perplexed by his response. He spreads his arms wide in answer. "Look at me."

"Oh believe me, I've looked," Chloe says. "And what I see is a man who is blindingly intelligent, scathingly witty, and driven to succeed. Someone who is strong and determined and doesn't let anyone else's opinion slow him down. And," she adds softly, "someone who has the most beautiful eyes."

Rush shuffles uncomfortably against the wall. He hasn't blushed since he was a schoolboy, and he certainly doesn't intend to start now simply because of a girl's flattering words. And that is what Chloe is, he reminds himself – a girl. She should be with a young man like… perhaps not like Lieutenant Scott, but someone… not like him. 

He clears his throat, pushes up from the wall. "Chloe," he says, "you don't know what—"

"Don't you _dare_ tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about," Chloe interrupts heatedly, "or that I don't know what I want. Don't you dare. I'm not a child, Nick. I'm well aware of exactly what I'm doing. And unlike you," she adds with the barest hint of a grin, "I'm actually good at reading signals. I think you want me, too. Unless I'm wrong?"

He should push her away. Tell her that he was only acting enamoured of her for the benefit of Dr. Park. Give her a chance to find happiness with someone else. 

But she's looking at him with those big blue eyes, and he can't lie to her. He's never been able to lie to her. 

"Ohhhh, I want you," he murmurs. 

"Then—"

He holds up a hand to stop her advance, knows that his look is pained. "I'm old enough to be your father, Chloe."

She sidles closer, eyes him. "You are definitely not my father." 

And when her hand comes up to rest lightly on his chest, he closes his eyes. He knows she'll be able to feel his heart beating a tattoo against his ribs, knows that his breath is coming in shallow gasps. For a moment all he can smell is the sweet perfume of her hair; all he can feel is the gentle pressure of her palm on his chest.

Then she shifts closer, and her breath brushes against his lips.

Whenever Rush allowed himself to think about this moment – when he lay still and quiet in bed during the deep-night watch, listening to the ever-present hum of Destiny's systems and his own breath, his fertile mind unable to turn itself off – he imagined a clash of tongues, bodies writhing together, hands pulling desperately at clothing. But when the kiss happens it is the barest brush of lips, a soft press of gentle desire that is nevertheless warm with promise. It heats him more than a clutch of mindless passion ever could.

His hands clench involuntarily at her waist when they part, and he buries his nose in her hair, breathes in the sweet smell of her. "Chloe—"

She pulls away then, just enough to look into his eyes, and makes a face. "You're not going to say something stupid like 'we can't do this' or 'this is wrong' and totally ruin the moment, are you?"

Rush huffs out a laugh. "No."

"Good," she says. "Because I've been waiting for that forever."

Rush lifts a brow. He's under no delusions about his attractiveness to the opposite sex. He's a small trim man in a world where most women are looking for big and brawny, and the fact that Gloria even looked at him twice was a constant source of astonishment no matter how long they were wed. But before he can open his mouth to protest, Chloe sweeps a hand through his hair. The touch of her fingers against his scalp makes him shiver.

"Been wanting to do that, too. I've wanted you for so long, even if I didn't want to admit it." She cocks her head, considering him for a moment. "Probably since you smashed through that glass to rescue me."

"Indeed?"

Her answering grin is just this side of wicked. "You were quite sexy in that wetsuit, you know."

It's his turn to make a face. "Sexy is not a term usually applied to me, Chloe."

"I'm applying it now," she says stubbornly. "Are you going to take me to bed, Nick?"

His fingers flex on her hips at the words before he slides his hands up her body to rest just below her bosom, the pads of his thumbs pressing tantalizing at the curve of her breasts. She sucks in a breath then, and he takes advantage of the moment to dip his head to the swell of her breast, to lay a soft kiss against her skin. When his lips move over the spot and his beard scratches against the tender flesh, she shivers against him. "What do you think?" he asks as he lifts his head.

Her pupils are blown wide, and when she answers him there is just the slightest tremor in her voice. "I think we've wasted enough time already."

They surge forward at the same time, and their second kiss puts to shame all of his wildest imaginings, when he'd lain alone and restless in the dark, his hand drifting lower on his body to pull on his cock and his mind filled with images of her face, her lips, her firm breasts and long legs. His dreams could never truly capture the silken fall of her hair in his hands, or the taste of her mouth, or the desperate mewling sounds she makes as he drags his lips over the smooth flesh of her neck to nip and suck at her skin.

"Nick," she murmurs.

He pulls away then, but only far enough to take her hand and lead her toward the bed. And it occurs to him as she smiles and clutches his hand that this will be his new normal. Working with Chloe side by side throughout the day, retiring with her in the evening. Relying on her. Putting his heart in her hands, and trusting her to keep it safe.

The thought makes him stumble, and her hand leaves his to again stroke through his hair, brushing the straggling ends back from his eyes. When he lifts his gaze to hers, he finds that she is smiling.

"I choose you, Nick," she says.

THE END


End file.
